As a student of social science, I have always been fascinated by the relationship between raw data and interpretation that exists within these disciplines. When you study human beings, individuals with their own unique and subjective experiences, how do you quantify those experiences into objective information? What information can really be gleaned about a past culture from their remaining artifacts? How does that tangible, material data translate into something like human practice and ideology, concepts that inherently have many interpretations and facets? The relationship between data and interpretation is a concept that I sought to explore within the space of Racetrack Playa.

In order to narrow down this broad topic into something I could realistically explore, I chose to study objectivity and subjectivity within the context of sound. More specifically, my aim was to explore the relationship between sound and a place or object. Relating a sound to a place, object or concept is hardly uncommon among humans. A given song might remind an individual of the dance floor where he first met his girlfriend. The chirps of certain species of birds can convey the image of a place in nature. To synesthetes, people who experience concurrent activation of multiple senses by the same stimulus, a pitch may visually convey a given color every single time that pitch is played. All of these examples reveal an element of subjectivity, a non-universal experience. For most people, associations with sound are formed based on memory or interaction - a song heard in a given venue, a noise made by a certain type of machine. For synesthetes, this is not the case, but their experience is still individualized to an extent - one may see burgundy when they hear A#, while another sees the color green.

The concept of sound's relationship to a place, and the fact that such a relationship is most commonly based on memory, brings up an interesting point - can a sound still be associated to a place if that sound is not actually produced or heard at that site? If a musical composition is based on a meadow, for example, does that piece actually evoke the sense of being in a meadow for some of its listeners? I took this question even further and applied it to my broader concern. If sounds are manufactured impersonally outside of a given space - based on objective criteria rather than emotion, memory, and other subjective experiences - how does that affect the relationship between sound and the space it is based on?

The aim of my project, then, would be to obtain numerical data from the Racetrack, which I would then use to create sounds. More specifically, I would take two given numbers, divide it by a certain factor, and then use those numbers and output them as an audible frequencies (with one being an overtone of the other). I would compile all those frequencies into a musical piece, based around the Grandstand.

To obtain the data - distance both to the nearest object and elevation - I chose to construct a measurement device using digital electronics. In this device, two sonar sensors are responsible for obtaining the data. These sensors work by outputting a sound inaudible to the human ear, and then measuring the amount of time it takes for that sound to bounce back. Distance data can then be obtained, knowing the speed of sound. The distance data would then be outputted to an LCD screen. This device was housed in a white box, approximately three feet long, which sat on a tripod. The box also contained the BASIC stamp, with the appropriate program, and spare batteries. I would take this device to various points on and around the Grandstand, measuring height and distance for each facing in eight directions (the four cardinal directions, plus the primary intercardinal ones), and write the data down.

Part of the technology in the measurement device.

I opted to use sonar technology because I felt it would give a suitably objective, precise measurement. As technology develops, one gains the means to obtain increasingly accurate data. While measurement could have been performed using any number of implements, I felt that sonar was the only one that was easily accessible and yet not particularly susceptible to human error. In contrast, a measuring tape might not be completely straight when measuring height. Human feet and hands vary in dimension - the same person's feet might not even be of equal size - and are also subject to human error, due to veering off a straight path or other such mistakes. Sonar was also considerably less time consuming than many other options, and given the fact that I was only one of a group of artists performing in that space on that day, that was certainly a concern.

The morning of departure for Death Valley, the device was functioning normally. I had prepared myself for several possibilities of failure - I was armed with a large number of 9-volt batteries and even an extra sonar, borrowed from a friend - but was not ready for what I found the next morning. As we left for the Grandstand, I found that the stamp's power indicator would not light up, no matter how many batteries I tried. Further troubleshooting revealed that this only occurred if the LCD screen was connected to the stamp. Unfortunately, I had not remembered to bring a backup for this component. This meant that there was no way for me to obtain my data - while the sensors could obtain readings perfectly well, I had no way to actually see what those numbers were.

A last-ditch attempt to get the device working.

I improvised at this point, in order to bring back some data that I could still use. Knowing that my own arm span is approximately 5 feet long, I opted to use that as my measurement unit. In addition, I cut down the number of points and entirely eliminated the height measurement, due to the amount of time it would take me to obtain my data.

The failure of my electronic measuring device brought up a number of interesting trains of thought. The most obvious thing that came to mind was the over-reliance on technology that exists today. I, like many others, operated on the assumption that technology was helpful, and a major improvement over more "primitive" practices. Yet on the day of data collection, I found that the technology was more of a hindrance - after it failed, I spent a good amount of time troubleshooting, time I could have spent gathering more information instead.

However, the most interesting idea to come out of this project involved my use of subjective means to obtain objective data. I found this especially fascinating because I initially aimed to objectify what is generally a subjective experience; I wanted to come up with an impersonal, dare I say more "scientific," piece of music in order to explore the relationship between sound and space. But, I ended up using a means I originally rejected as being too individualized or variable - the human body - in order to try and accomplish this. I subjectified something that I had envisioned as being objective, and I think that entire interplay between both types of experience is a fascinating one, particularly in light of my project. No matter how hard I initially tried to delineate the two, I ended up seeing them as being even more closely related than I previously believed.

My actions at the Racetrack and afterward, I believe, are reminiscent of those in the social sciences, which I found interesting because that is the subject that fueled my project in the first place. I tried to take something variable and individual - measurements based on the human body, specifically mine - and quantify that into data. And I aimed to create something objective in an almost inherently subjective field. I tried to make music scientific, while psychologists, sociologists and anthropologists bring scientific practices into elements of the human life. In "Subjective Objectivity," just like in the social sciences, the subjective experience ended up being intertwined with the objective. Each lends to the other; new objective data gives one new things to interpret, while new subjective experience gives a reason to obtain further data. Looking back on that day at the Racetrack, I am now glad to have had the equipment failure, as I can now view the relationship between the objective and subjective from a new perspective.